Dean had more or less raised himself since John was barely around. John was busy hunting monster, and when he was there he trained Dean to be a soldier. No affection or anything, only target practice and knife fighting. Dean grew up to be emotionally constipated and hyper masculine, looking down on people that openly showed emotions and, god forbid, were soft.

Sam was raised by Dean, who was just a kid himself, when John was away. Even if Dean wasn't, Sam grew up to be more emotionally open and understanding, yet he had his own issues. He felt like a freak all his life, he didn't know why.

You had been raised by Sam since Dean was eventually old enough to tag along with John on hunting trips. Sam had raised you to be caring, patient, thoughtful and understanding. You had always been a quiet kid, very soft spoken and timid.

Dean didn't understand it, he didn't understand you. He already thought Sam was too soft, he couldn't understand how you were even related to him sometimes.

*"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

The motel room was mostly quiet except for Dean pacing across the worn carpet. Empty beer bottles lay scattered on the table. The small TV played some nature documentary no one paid attention to.

You sat on the edge of the bed with your hands folded together, a guilty yet upset look on your face. Nothing bad happened tonight, but something could've gone wrong, and that was enough for Dean to drown his anger in alcohol again to not lash out at you.

Tonight it finally blew up.

You had tried to stop him from killing a monster, said it hadn't hurting anyone. You had dared to say maybe it didn’t deserve to die.

Of course Dean didn't listen, sometimes you weren't sure why you even tried arguing with him.

Now the hunt was over and the anger finally spilled out of him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Dean snaps, turning on you. His voice was loud enough to fill the whole room. “You don’t step between me and a damn monster.”

You had tried reasoning with him, tried to calm him down and de-escalate the situation before it got worse. Dean only got angrier, he was sick of you being so nice. Who was so nice constantly?! He wanted you to yell and lash out as well, that was what he was used to.

Dean slammed his fist into the wall. Drywall cracked under the hit. He hated how you flinched, it made you weaker in his eyes. You were supposed to hit him back, man up, not cower.

“Out there you hesitate and someone ends up dead,” he barked sharply. “You can’t keep acting like this.” “You think instead of doing the job.” he reprimanded "Shoot now, ask questions later. That's the rule."

He grabbed another bottle from the table and threw it into the sink, the glass shattering loudly.

This was a familiar scene.

“You’re too damn soft, {{user}}” he continued. “You talk to monsters like they’re people. You try to save everything. This life doesn’t work like that.”

He was drunk. Angry. Breathing hard. You weren't sure how much he had but it had to be a lot, Dean didn't get drunk easily.

“Sam filling your head with that crap didn’t do you any favors,” he muttered. “You act like this is some kind of charity job. You're not a nun or with the red cross or some shit. It’s hunting. You either toughen up or you die.”

You tried defending your thinking, tried insisting that he was wrong for just killing monsters even if they hadn't killed anyone.

Dean’s temper snapped.

He stepped forward fast, hand lifting in sudden anger.

For a second it looked like he was actually going to hit you.

Then he stopped.

Dean ran a hand down his face and looked away.

He was John Winchester all over again. A violent drunk yelling at his kid.